tales of a traveling librarian

There are very few things that I value more than the opportunity to visit Court. Now, I know compared to some couples I know, Court and I are long distance rookies, but, what can I say? I miss him. And yes, I was certainly spoiled having him home over Christmas and then in January, but, of course, there were other things on our minds during those periods. What am I trying to get at here? I think mostly that I was happy to see him.

The flight was a little hectic. I was supposed to leave Toronto at 6:15am. Of course, the night before, I got an automatic message saying that my flight was delayed until 8:00am. Which isn’t so much of a problem except that I had a connecting flight. So, after an hour and a half on hold with American Airlines, I was booked on a new flight. And, I’m happy to say, I got to Panama City right on schedule. Unfortunately, my baggage did not. Yay! But, we picked it up the next day, and other than the slight annoyance, all was well. We headed to the gym before picking up Marina (I am in training after all!) but, despite promises that it would be open during the holidays, the place was literally locked up tightly. With a big chain. Seriously. That’s both Panama business practice AND Panama security. The best part: there were three English speaking guys doing some kind of circuit training on the steps outside the gym. Now, that is dedication.

Sunday was Valentine’s Day. Uh huh. You’ll note that I am actually one of those girls who says she doesn’t care about Valentine’s and then gets upset when her significant other does nothin.’ I know. The worst. But, seeing as how I’m marrying a man who knows me much better than I care to admit or think about too much, Court surprised with me an overnight trip to Contadora, the biggest of the Pearl Islands. It’s still not all that big, but, it was amazing. After a short domestic flight, we arrived, were picked up in a golf cart, and were driven to our Bed and Breakfast, complete with terrace and hammocks. The couple who manage the Inn were American (I’d guess) and were friendly without being too in your face. It was perfect.

Since it was only an overnighter, I did not bring my running stuff. I regretted that, although, I think Court was perfectly fine with it. This trip to Panama was so much nicer (in so many ways) and least not because of the cooler weather. We could walk around without wanting to die, which was a major step up.

During our beach day, we went snorkeling. This is something that I almost regret doing. First of all, that whole world you can see underwater? I think it’s better left to my imagination. We almost gave ourselves heart attacks, scaring ourselves silly with all the fish swimming below us. We found out after that there are no aggressive fish in the water but, having seen a man snorkeling with a knife attached to his calf, had already scared us off. What? We’re Canadian. You can’t even see the bottom of our lakes. They are FRESH WATER (which equals boring!). When I’m old and grey, this will be a Valentine’s Day that I talk about. Obviously, with the proviso, that I don’t really care about Valentine’s Day.

As for the wedding updates: We’ve set a date…November 06, 2010 AND a venue, Rosehill Event Lounge. Be there or be square.

I’m not really sure what to write. First of all, I’m home. In Toronto. A mite early, you might say. Unfortunately, things did not go exactly as we planned for us in Panama City due to some extenuating circumstances and we decided that the best thing for me to do would be to return home and for us to take a break to regroup. Although Court and I have parted ways for now, we haven’t closed any doors (how’s that for cryptic?) and we still love each other very much. This is one of the most difficult things emotionally that I’ve ever had to do and while I might write more about it as time passes, for now, well, I’m having trouble just typing it out.

But I kinda had to. Because I plan on blogging from the cruise my Dad and I are taking as of tomorrow. And I thought maybe you’d read this and be like, um, dude, a cruise? Aren’t you in Central America? And so I didn’t want any confusion. So, yes, a cruise. We’re going to Key West, Jamaica, and the Cayman Islands. Is it last minute? Yes. Is it exactly what I need? Yes. I plan on bringing several mystery novels, my running shoes, and my elastic waist pants to allow for all of the buffet-y. I’m trying to put a positive spin on this. And if coming home means that I get to spend a week with my Dad, well, that’s worth something greater than many many other things. And I’m willing to trust, for now, that everything happens for a reason, and that, well, (God! The cliches!) if we are meant to be together, then we will work things out.

Just in case my calmness doesn’t last though, I’m asking Dad to bring some extra hydromorphcontin. I’ll either take it or turn it into some cold hard cash.

One of the things that is included with my Spanish Course tuition is a tour of Panama City. I know that I don’t like organized tours, but I figured it would not only be a good opportunity to meet some of the other students it would also be a good opportunity to orient myself in this new city. Because the other thing that I forget is that while there are so many great things about traveling to a new place, there are also a few hard things as well. Especially for a person like myself, who finds so much comfort in routine. Part of the reason I do this to myself is because I know that my dependence on planning is not necessarily a good thing (although it does make me organized). And to me, there is a huge difference between knowing that you have faults and knowingly not working on them. It doesn’t always make me easy to live with, or easy to love, but I think that in the end, it brings me closer to the person that I want to be. So, after almost a week here, it was time to get myself out of the house.

The tour had a packed schedule for four hours: the Panama Canal, Casco Viejo (The Old Quarter), The Causeway, Punta Paitilla (The New Panama), and Punta Pacifica. The tour guide described Panama City as being in four separate parts…I can’t exactly remember what they are at this minute but I would bet that they relate somehow to the above sections. i really do need to spend some time reading up on the history of this city.

There are so many things that are fascinating about the city. For instance, take our street. There are two condo buildings that are so similar that I ran up to the wrong one and tried to get in. And then on one side of us, there’s this incredible mansion. And then on the other, a dilapadated older apartment building. And it’s the same everywhere. Apparently, they are tearing down the whole city, bit by bit, to build these new condos. There’s 800 buildings under construction right now, and it’s estimated that about 3000 will go up in the next ten years. I don’t get it. And I’m not the only one. One of the girls on the tour asked the guide who exactly was going to be living in these buildings. The tour guide said that they are planning and preparing for an influx of retirees. Yes. They are planning to fill all of these buildings with pensioners from other countries, due to the lower cost of living, the high quality of healthcare, and the perfect climate (read: HOT). But what if the people don’t come? They have all of these buildings, half of them all are empty (you can’t see any lights at night, but, in their defense, we never turn our lights on either). They’ve torn down the traditional housing in these areas, shipping the poorer people to suburbs outside of the city…and who knows what those are going to turn into. They buy the people out, give them enough money to buy a house, a car, and bank some. But it is, of course, the condo developers that get rich, not the people who owned the land first. I can’t tell you have many times I heard, “You don’t believe what this city will look like in ten years.” Court seems to second that, saying that it has changed incredibly even since he was here. I don’t know, something just doesn’t sit well with me.  They are building a first world infrastructure on top of a third world economy and I don’t know enough about any of this to know whether this is a good idea or not. And it seems like there’s way too many welfares involved to risk this kind of experimentation.

But with all the differences, the people here are incredibly friendly. I mean, not that I understand a word that they are saying, but they are polite and they smile and they are helpful. For the most part. Like, for instance, at the canal yesterday, after I bailed on the movie (look, I told you that I can’t do organized activities), I was sitting outside reading, waiting for the tour to continue on. The two other girls on the tour met me, and we were chatting, figuring out where everyone was from, why we were in Panama, etc. A guy, visiting with a few of his buddies, asked the French Girl (you would think I would have gotten their names!) if she would take their picture, and she stood up to oblige. But it turned out: he wanted a picture with us! He sat down in between us and his friends sat on either side of me and the girl from Montreal. We tried to move out of the way, not really knowing what was going on, but it was clear they wanted all three of us in the photo. And I’m sure that’s gracing someone’s Facebook page as I type. I mean, I know you’ll all disagree, but it’s probably because of my Ray Bans. You know how awesome they are. The attention you get here is undeniable, but at no point have I found it invasive or predatory. More just…flattering. In a really really bizarre way.

I find this city endlessly intriguing. Difficult, yes, sometimes, but just because I’m new. It’s been less than a week, after all. There’s a whole new routine to learn, a whole new way of life to discover. Right now, the challenge is still very exciting. I start Spanish on Monday, but it’s only for a few hours in the mornings. I’m having trouble running, but I arranged to go to CrossFit on Monday. And our building’s gym should be set up sooner rather than later. It’s a new way of existing for me: learning to compromise, to be happy with different things. To be patient, rather than getting everything at once. To invest, rather than to withdraw. Of course, it’s all in moderation: tomorrow we’re going to the Beach and I plan on enjoying and relaxing for every second of it. And hey, if I can’t run, perhaps I can surf?

To celebrate her first day at a new school, Marina asked for Court and I to take her out for dinner. Now, not being one to turn down a dinner out, I (we) happily obliged. I’m still working on being smooth and efficient in restaurants, since that is one place that basic Spanish really does suffice. As long as you can point and say numbers, you’re pretty much good. It was nice to go out, and relax, and see Marina again in a social setting. I had missed it very much. We dropped Marina off at her mother’s, and came home, thinking maybe we’d drop some stuff off (and let me change into more comfortable shoes) and go for a walk along the waterfront. Of course, there’s most certainly a “but.”

When we went to open the door, the key wouldn’t turn. Now, this ain’t no ordinary lock. This is a super-industrial-cannot-be-bashed-in lock. The keys are near to impossible to copy (you have to provide proof of ownership or something). It’s make for a very safe home, when it’s working. When it’s not working, it makes it pretty difficult to get back in. We kind of looked at each other, wondering what to do.

“So, how do you say ‘Locksmith’ in Spanish?” I asked.

“How do you say, ‘My cell phone is inside the apartment?’ in Spanish,” he replied.

Basically, we were pretty screwed.

We went down to the security guard to try to explain what was going on, both of us more than a little worried that a locksmith wouldn’t even try to open the door even if we could get one out here. It was seven pm, so it wasn’t terribly late but it wasn’t terribly early either. We plotted what Spanish we could use to get the point across…I remembered that “trabajar” was “work” and I figured “no lo trabaje” would at least get us on our way. Yeah, not so much. He did make a few phone calls and sent us into the lobby to wait. I don’t wait very well and I certainly don’t wait well when I’m not even sure that help is coming.

“Didn’t you meet another English speaker in the building a while back?” I asked.

Court headed up the elevator to find him, thinking he could act as translator at the very least and call a locksmith at best.

He came back to get me (I had been waiting in the lobby in case someone magically showed up) and rather giddily said that we could wait upstairs and that they would call a locksmith. Looking back, I should have known. He led me up to an apartment completely and wonderfully decorated with unusual art–on the walls, the floors, the shelves…even the furniture. It turns out, our neighbour is a rather successful furniture designer. And he had company! So, what could have been a rather awful evening sitting outside of our door turned into one drinking wine. Not too shabby, really.

We definitely owe Harry a bottle of wine.

In the end, thanks to no part the building’s administration, a locksmith did come and did let us back into the apartment. We still don’t really know what happened, but I’m pretty much terrified every time I leave. And I carry a lot of phone numbers in a notebook now. Just in case.

One of the reasons that I wanted to get here on Saturday night was so that Court and I could have a full day together before he went to work. Oh, no, not so that we could spend it cuddling and making kissy faces but so that he could show me the ropes. See, I have a bit of a hard time doing things for the first time. I am so annoyed by people who “don’t know the rules” of the situation, that I hate being that person. (Although, it helps when I acknowledge that there is a huge gaping gulf between someone who is innocently ignorant and someone who is so self absorbed that they just do not care.)

But, I did not get here on Saturday night. I got here on Sunday afternoon. And Court has to be at work for eight am…so, that leaves me pretty much on my own for the day. I hauled my ass out of bed around the same time he left, thinking it was as good a time as any to run. I was wrong. Although there were a lot of people out and about at seven thirty, they were all casual exercisers. I didn’t really think about this until I was realized that I was going to die if I took a single step more. It is fucking hot in this country at seven thirty am. It is so hot that I could only run five K. A very beautiful 5K, along the water, leading towards the old quarter, but, a very hot, sweaty, disgusting, awful run. Oddly enough though, it feels pretty great now. That I’m back inside and showered.

Now, in my delirium, which is the only state I can proclaim in which the following does not just make me seem like a total idiot, I went to the wrong building. In my defense, we went in through the parking garage last time AND I only left the front doors ONCE and they all look the same! And did you read the above paragraph about the heat? So, I had my key out, and was trying to figure out how to get back into the building. Of course, there was a security guard, but he didn’t seem to want to let me in. Until I realized that it wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was that even if he did, I would not find where I lived inside. So, I apologized (one of the only words I know right now) and sheepishly walked up to my actual building. I tried to explain to the guard that it was my first day in Panama, but the best I could come up with was “una dias Panama.” Hopefully he got the point. He seemed much more with it than I did, by that point. Tomorrow, I’ll go much much earlier. And I’ll wear a hat. What am I, some kind of running rookie? So lame.
Now though, I’m back home, mostly unpacked, clean, fed, and remotely connected to my work computer. It’s not being home and being home in the best of combinations.

I like I’m going to like Panama.

So, I’m still in Toronto. You would be right if you were thinking that about this time, I was supposed to be landing in Panama City, Panama. (Not Panama City, Florida. You would not believe how many people asked me this today. Like, THREE.)

So, the plan was to take a 2:05pm flight that connected via Newark, New Jersey with a 4:49pm flight to Panama City. Easy breezy, but 10pm I would be hugging Court in the airport. In my head, I dropped my suitcases and he picked me up and there were tears. Well, I was right about the tears. And I was right about the fact that they were mine. But I had the location and timing way off.

I was waiting by the gate, expecting to board, when a little yellow icon popped up on the board. Turns out, my flight was delayed an hour. Um, that would mean I’d miss my connection. I mentionned this to the nice agents at the counter. Now, mind you, it was some effort even to get to this counter, seeing as how on all of the boards they had posted a different gate and I only found my way here because I was eavesdropping on another conversation. What can I say? I like to listen.

I was told that they could re-book me. For tomorrow. I was like, Are you serious? There’s no other flights? And was then told that everyone else had been re-booked on an Air Canada flight. I’m not sure exactly why I was left out of this little re-scheduling. Was I too tall? Not friendly enough? I have no idea. I was like, Look, I need to get to Panama today. And by the time that little sentence cleared my mouth, I was sobbing. You know, the whole ugly cry. I was just so terribly, incredibly frustrated and disappointed. His fingers started clicking, the speed motivated clearly by injustice, but, there was nothing that could be done. The storm in Newark was a real bummer. They couldn’t route me anywhere else. The best they could do was book me for a 6:00am flight tomorrow.

“But I don’t have anywhere to stay tonight…I don’t even live in Toronto.”

See, I didn’t really know that I was planning on lying until it was out of my mouth. I think I thought perhaps they’d magically whip up another solution that would involve a private plane and an arrival date on Saturday. She asked me where I lived and I blurted out Windsor, knowing that they must have my home address on the screen in front of them. I mean, I bought the ticket myself. There could be no hiding. I looked at her, trying to look too scary to contradict.

“I’m going to see my fiance and I haven’t seen him for six months.”

Okay, once I get going it’s really hard for me to stop. And I mean, I was really sad. And it FEELS like it’s been six months.

It didn’t get me onto an earlier filghts, but, it did get me three meal vouchers and a hotel. So, here I am, at the Sheraton at the airport, using the free Internet while I tire myself out before I get on a plane (fingers crossed) tomorrow. I’m not really sure what to do about the morning. Continental still has my bags and I’m flying American…the main thing being figuring out how to get myself a free breakfast before I go. Because damned straight, I made the Sheraton give me all my vouchers in one AND a free toothbrush.

In the end though, it didn’t work out badly at all. I managed to get my hair cut, after all, and my Mom made a delicious dinner for my Aunt and Uncle and my cousin and her friend came over for a private concert. It was actuall quite lovely. Court will be thrilled to know I’ve picked out our wedding song.

Well, this is a first for me. In all of my flights over all the years, I’ve never had the board say “delayed.” I know. Colour me lucky. But seriously, its just never happened. I’ve heard the horror stories. But up to this point, it was just a myth. However, right now, us Larsh’s are staring down the very real possibility that we’re going to miss our connecting flight and end up stranded in the wonderful (I’m sure) city of Minneapolis. Unfortunately, it seems like delayed is a common event right now, as I just received a text message from Tasha mentionning she was suffering the same fate. It’s nice to know that we are suffering together. On the upside, there’s free Internet, so, for a girl who loves the Internet as much as I do, and who’s been away from it for four days, well, this is nice. It feels like home.

So. Las Vegas. Let’s see. We flew in around lunch time. Now, I’ll admit that I was tired. We had all slept in one room the night before and we’ll just mention that I am the quietest sleeper. If you’ve slept in the same bed as me, you’ll know that that was really only a relative statement. However, once we began the descent, and realized that you could see most of the strip from the airplane, Jeff and I started to get pretty excited.

When I travel, I do the hostel thing. The cheaper the better. Stay at a stranger’s house? Sure. Share a hotel room with people we just met? Done and done. Oh, the airport doesn’t close? That sounds fine. But, this was going to be a very very different trip. One, Dad had done all the booking. This means that we don’t skimp. And by not skimping, I mean, we do things the classy way. But I certainly had no idea that this hotel was waiting for us. Or more than that. The ROOM. Ahem, I mean, suite. This whole city is over the top. In a giant grown up wonderland kind of way. I had no idea all the hotels were themed as other cities and other places and other realities. It really is a fantasy world. You can stay in Paris and New York and visit a fake Medieval world and ride a gondola in Venice, all without leaving the US of A. I can’t decide if its awesome or some kind of sickness. And the place was BUSY. Every hotel was packed. Every street was packed. I was thinking about jogging down the strip as a way to see it, and it was just impossibly busy. It was tacky and loud and bright and, yet, I had so much fun.

As I mentionned, the night all of us spent together in one room was a little bit, uh, crowded. And I was feeling a bitter of worry at the thought of us all in one room for four days. Apparently Dad was feeling the same way, because at check in, I heard the words “upgrade” and “yes.” And that meant an upgrade to a suite bigger than the condo, with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, three tvs, a couch, a bar, a table, everything. It was awesome. I was hugely impressed by the MGM, but, apparently, its actually one of the older hotels. I couldn’t believe places like Caesar’s Palace and the Mirage and the Bellagio. Huge is an understatement. We went to the Bellagio to see “O,” the Cirque de Soleil involving water. I was hoping we’d be able to play the poker tables, but, it was just too busy. And I figured if I got my ass kicked at the MGM, I would get slaughtered at the Bellagio. I mean, as you walk in, the stores are Hermes, Fendi, Armani, Chanel. I figure if I can’t shop in the stores, I can’t play at the tables with the people who can.

But I’m getting a head of myself. I was still supposed to be talking about our first day, about how we were going to nap, and how that went right out the window as soon as we walked in the hotel. At that point, there was only the thought of poker tables. Neither Jeff nor I had ever played poker in a casino before. I was hoping to start out at .25/.50 cent tables, but uh, that’s doesn’t happen at the MGM Grand. $1/$2 tables happen at the MGM. Sick. We had to buy in for a hundred bucks…which still seems like a lot of money to me. Which is exactly why I will never be able to be a gambler, but, that’s a little bit ahead of myself at this point. Anyway. Our first afternoon, Jeff finishes up about ten bucks, while I’m down 50. We break only for dinner, and to get player’s cards (because everyone else had one and because um, they looked really cool), and then were back at the table. Where Jeff promptly took me for sixty bucks. I was out shortly thereafter. Jeff finished that night up a couple HUNDRED. In my defense, I was hitting NOTHING, and Jeff was hitting everything. It was the most wild streak of cards I have ever seen in my whole life. I got pouty but felt better when Jeff told me he’d float me the money I lost to him. In the end though, after three days of playing, I was down A LOT, Dad was down a little, and Jeff was up, but not as up as he’d have liked (stupid donkey flush chaser). I think the pictures of the casino are on Jeff’s camera, which he checked, so there will be no photo support in this Live from the Airport addition of this blog.

Now, we did not just gamble in Vegas. You’d think that might have been the case, but you’d be wrong. We also flew to the Grand Canyon. The scenery was amazing and completely different than anything you’d see back home. Unfortunately, it was freezing. And we were on a tour with a bunch of Japanese tourists and so had to listen to everything in Japanese as well as English. And there was also the slight incident involving a small plane, a lot of turbulence, and a mother prone to motion sickness.

So we all made fun of her by taking a picture of us pretending to puke.

We did manage to take a nice family photo at the top of the canyon. In order of heights. You’d think that maybe the librarian would have had something to do with that, but I swear it just happened that way.

On our last day, Mom and I took a quick walk around, the other way on the strip. Which is surprisingly long. I was thinking it’d be a km or so of tacky, but, no. And its getting bigger everyday. There is nothing but cranes along the road, as older hotels are being torn down to be replaced by new mega hotels. Mini cities really. It would have been completely possible to arrive at the hotel and never leave it. And not feel like you’d missed anything. There were shows, restaurants, casinos, shopping, a spa, everything all in one place. Like I said, amazing or disgusting, I have no idea.

All in all, it was one of the most spoiling vacations I’ve ever been on. I’m not sure I will every go back to Vegas. Some things were just ridiculous. A charge for everything. A complete lack of personal space. Too many tacky people. But, at the same time, it was a great time with my family (when was the last time we went away just the four of us? When will the next time be?). And, especially at Christmas time, that is truly priceless. Of course, I probably wouldn’t be writing such nice things if we’d all been stuck in the same hotel room, so, whatever Dad paid: WORTH EVERY PENNY.

I’ve done a fair amount of gallavanting. And in my travels, I’ve done a fair amount of purchasing. Now, I know that it is not about the material things brought home with me, but, there is something really wonderful about glancing about a room and seeing things that you’ve purchased throughout your life. Things that bring memories to the surface, make you laugh, or simply bring you small pleasure as you own a beautiful thing. I’ve said yes to many of these purchases. Some were spur of the moment, some were well thought out. And I’ve always loved everything thing that I’ve brought back with me.

But as much as I value those items, I’ve rather plagued by the thing that I did not buy. You know, the ones that seemed too over the top, too unnecessary, or worse, too expensive. I’m always thinking about money when I’m traveling. When you’re paying for accommodations and food every day for a month, things add up. And a hundred dollars here, fifty dollars there, well, those purchases add up, even if Visa tells me I can spend as much as I want.

These are the ones that stand out most in my head:

1. Two Turkish pillow cases, featuring rather sparkly elephants, with silver and blue being the dominant colours. I found these while traveling with my mom. We had been on some kind of tour and were in the middle of a tourist trap, but I wanted those pillow cases something fierce. But they were expensive, and I was a student, and I didn’t buy them.
2. A Gaudi-inspired chess set in Barcelona. I saw them in the window of a shop near the beginning of our trip, and walked by them as often as I could. I went so far as to go in and see them, to be told they were $150.00, not even including a chess set. Now, I’m awful at chess, but I’ve always wanted a chess set, and I’ve always wanted it to be from “somewhere.”
3. A square-ish rug, about 2 x 3, in the market in Marrakesh. I was bargaining for it, and he met my price, and in one of the worst cultural faux pas’ of my life, I didn’t buy it. Oh man, it was so pretty.
4. Chinese calligraphy brushes. They were rampant in the market, and they were beautiful, and I’m sure I could have gotten them for a couple of dollars…and I just didn’t. I already had scrolls, and figurines, and other things, and I didn’t think I would want them. But I do!

I’m sure there are more. Those are just the ones that make me groan with regret. Especially because, for a lot of it, it was money that prevented me from buying it, and I have to tell myself, “It’s only money.” That being said, I usually still come home with loads of things, so, I mean, I must be doing something right. Or very wrong. I can’t tell, just yet.

Today Jeff and I played tourist while Jess was working. Now, I’ve done a fair share of traveling. And I’ve done a fair of tours. In Greece, my mom and I spent a particularily horrible five days with a woman named Effie, a bunch of old ladies, and several tourist traps. It was brutal. I remember lying in bed wondering how exactly I was going to get through the next day. Mom, who’s personality is so much more kind than mine, was struggling too. This actually made me feel a whole lot better. I mean, if Mom couldn’t handle it, how could I? In Scotland this summer, we spent days on the bus. Now, it is Scotland, and so the highlands are beautiful, but on that trip I managed to get my cousin and I yelled at in front of everyone, saw the same castles about four times, and got soaked more times than I can count. In Morrocco, we spent days upon days on the bus (okay, it was three), and, let me tell you, the desert got old. I mean, its sand. I get it.

But, as time passes, you forget just how bad it can be. You forget the droning and the herding and the structure. I’m not sure what university has done to me, but the second someone starts any type of lecture, I’m out. Television I can watch for seventeen hours straight. I can listen to a professor for about thirty nine seconds. And today, our little tour guide, who I am sure is adorable regular life, spent hours speaking some kind of script. I fell asleep on the bus today and I didn’t fall asleep on the plane ride over. See, now, Jess booked us the tickets. Recently, she and her family, plus a friend and her friend’s family, had a private tour with their own guide, and they took basically the same route that we did today. And they had an absolute blast. Which I can completely understand. So much of a tour is the people you are with and your tour guide. They got lucky, we didn’t.

That being said, I don’t know how we would have seen the things we saw today without her, for which I am forever grateful.

From The Terracott…

We started the day with a free breakfast at the hostel close to town, and then hit up the ol’Terracotta factory. I am not sure whoever thought up the idea of trapping tourists in shops on bus tours, and I’m still not sure whether it makes them brilliant or diabolical, but, this tour was no exception. Although we bought not a thing, I did walk out feeling quite smug about the bargaining that was done in the market yesterday.

From The Terracott…

Now, the Terracotta Warriors themselves are a must see. And I never say that. Jess described them, as per her tour guide, as the Eighth Wonder of the Ancient World, and I can’t help but agree. Can I give the basics? Crazy emperor, concerned about the afterlife, hatched plan of guards, had thousands of more than lifesize replicas commissioned, took thirty years, got smashed up despite sealing in the builders and workers. The whole scene is MIA until 1974 when Joe Schmoe Farmer stumbles upon it while digging a well. (Note: Farmer is now local celebrity and even got to meet Bill Clinton on his visit to China a few years ago.) Now, its the second most visited site in China, behind, you guessed it, the Great Wall. I’m having some problems uploading photos to my google host right now, so, you’re going to have to live with just the horses. Which were my favourite, anyway.

From The Terracott…

The added bonus of the tour was a porcelain museum and a silk factory. I was particularily taken with the museum/temple, especially as they were restoring it while we were there. Several people were painting, including teenagers who I cannot imagined were qualified for any of that kind of work. I mean, I know that those colours don’t last centuries without a bit of touching up, but at the same time, I didn’t think children were the ones colouring in the flowers. And below, my favourite picture of the whole day, and, unfortunately ruined by a Swede on our tour. Of course, not on purpose, but I didn’t see it until I got home. Damn it.

From The Terracott…

Well, we made it. By seven pm last night, Jeff was drinking a beer and I was reading a Cosmo, all at Jess’ house. It was like we never left home. If you don’t count the incredibly dirty, but oddly charming, city outside the windows. Honestly, this was a bit more like what I was expecting. Korea was great, but, it was fairly, uh, high tech? There were lights and Internet cafes and cell phones, and you got the sense that most of these people lived with the same indulgences that we do. Cable tv, porn, and so on. But in China, there’s definitely the feeling, at least in Xi’an, that were you to go a few miles out of the city, you’d meet people who’d never seen a white person before. Or a computer. Okay, I have nothing to back this up. I am just saying that’s how it feels. Today, we’re going to buy silk robes, pirated television shows, and other odds and ends that you can only buy in China.

From Xi’an

The night before we left, I was nervous. I have to admit it. Despite telling myself that everything works out, I get nervous before traveling. I was nervous we’d go to the wrong bus station (there are four in Daegu), I was worried we’d go to the wrong port (there are two international ferry ports and one domestic port in Incheon), and then I was worried we’d miss the boat, or not be able to buy tickets when we got there. And then I worried about whether we’d get our own room, or if we’d be sharing with the 500 school girls who were giggling in line. But it all went off without a hitch. All those parts anyway. We ran into a bit of trouble when we got to the port in Qingdao, China. There were no information booth, and we didn’t have a map. What we did have was a swarm of men, without a lick of English between them, offering to drive us. We wanted to get to the airport for our flight later on that afternoon. Apparently airport does not translate, so I tried to draw a picture of an airplane. I can’t draw. I also can’t sing. I can make people laugh, and those twelve men were crying they were laughing so hard. One man grabbed the book from my hand to show to other people. Finally though, we seemed to get the message across. We just didn’t have any cash.

From The Slow Boat…

So, we exchanged money with a woman sitting on the bench (I’m sure we got a great exchange) and got into the car of a man who drove us to the airport. Now, Mom, don’t get mad. We thought he was a cab driver, we really did. Turns out, just a regular guy, with his girlfriend in the front seat, making a few extra bucks. Of course, the night before, because I didn’t bring enough books, I was reading Jeff’s copy of the book about the Zodiac killer, and I was pretty sure we were getting killed, Bernardo-Holmolka style. However, in his defense, he probably should have been a cab driver. He was fast and delivered us to the right airport. Where we sat and sat and sat until our flight. We drank coffee and Jeff toiled with a Chinese character keyboard with a dial up Internet connection, and I read the rest of the serial killer book.

From Xi’an

I’m feeling pretty good this morning, even though its only ten am and I’ve been up for an hour. I had one of those mornings when I kept waking up, and since I wasn’t wearing a watch, I had no idea what time it was. I was thinking noon-ish. But, no. So I’m up and no one else is just yet. Its actually kind of nice. Its funny how when you’re traveling you want people around to stave off the “wow, I’m far from home” feelings, but, you also need that alone time. I do wish there was some cereal around, however. I’m not sure my stomach has recovered from the heat that we ate last night, but I’m willing to give it a go. Jess and Geoff, and their two Australian friends, took us to “Dog Alley” last night after a few beers. They ordered copious amounts of some kind of small seafood crayfish thing, sweet and sour chicken, chicken wings, and veggies. We pulled on some plastic gloves, rolled up our elbows and dug in. By the end of it, my shirt looked like that “of a three year old” (thanks Jess!). I’m pretty sure that’s the sign of a great meal.

From Xi’an